It's No Good
by Saphyr88
Summary: New York, 1924. Soon after the founding of the NY Sanctuary, Helen is in need of Nikola's skills… … … to set up her E.M. Shield, obviously. But will one thing lead to another in this new age of freedom, short hair and short skirts? What do you think? One-shot vignette. Smut alert.


**New York, 1924**

The New York Sanctuary was a masterpiece. A beautiful, state-of-the-art building – every element designed with helping and protecting abnormals in mind – set in the heart of one of the greatest metropolises on Earth. Of course, there was no point building something so high-tech and not protecting it which, to Helen Magnus' mind, meant there was one key element missing. An Electro-Magnetic Shield. She was absolutely insistent that their latest Sanctuary opened its doors complete with the same device as they had back in London.

It would draw so much power she'd need to negotiate a tax-break, a deal with the utility company and a backup generator to sustain it but, for Magnus, the device was more than a precaution – it was piece of mind incarnate. After Tesla had installed the original she'd had the best night's sleep in more than thirty years. Knowing, for the first time since the Ripper murders, that she could sleep undisturbed, unwatched, unmolested by the mere notion that John might reappear at her door, by her bed. _First thing in the morning, last thing at night_. Returning with all the conflicted emotions and confused responses that so frequently followed.

Besides which there were, surely, more abnormals than John Montague Druitt on this planet who might be stopped from wreaking havoc by such a device. Given the limitless permutations of life here on Earth it was a security step worth taking. Not that she'd explained the root cause of her certainty on the matter to her staff. Half of them were new hires she'd sourced from across the Eastern Seaboard over the last three months. The rest had transferred from London in what James liked to call his 'Graduating Class'. No, she'd decided early in the planning that all they need know was that Nikola Tesla – yes, _the_ Nikola Tesla – was a very old friend, and assisting them by installing a new, state of the art security system.

She had been a little surprised, in fact, that the dramatic Serbian _hadn't_ swanned in, demanding a coterie of servile assistants to help him with the task. Especially after months exposed to the almost serf-like mentality of the Egyptian workforce. But he'd remained rather aloof from the '_help_' as he'd promptly dubbed her employees with an irk-inducing grin, insisting the plans were far beyond their mundane comprehension.

That little opener had very much set the tone for the last few days.

Bar the singular power-cut, which he'd left to her senior technician Frank to sort out and treated as some kind of wine break, Nikola had in fact been very efficient and… for the last few hours in particular, remarkably quiet. Which was one of the many reasons she'd ventured out of the new office, to find him, installing the final tricky elements in the basement – his brows furrowed in concentration: so consumed that he didn't even react to the clip of her heels.

"How are you progressing?"

The wires slipped a little in his grip, not enough to screw it up, but he eyed her viperously for the distraction nevertheless. "Quickly," he attempted to focus back on his masterpiece in engineering. "In fact… I'm almost done."

"Excellent…" Helen smiled, inspecting his handiwork and drawing closer in the process, "how long do you think you'll be?"

He eyed her steadily now, with more than just a little lust at the barest implication that she desired the pleasure of his company. "How long would you like me to be?" he teased wolfishly, watching her almost reel as she realised the double entendre, before reasserting her composure with an unimpressed stare that wasn't without its own hint of mischief.

"Well if you're going to be a cad about it Nikola I'll leave the 1900 Bordeaux in the cellar."

"Now, now let's not be too hasty." He breathed as though unconcerned by the threat, remaining tellingly close, "I can be done in... five minutes?"

"Well I know you can," her voice lulled tauntingly soft, and the effect it had on him was instantaneous, "but I'd rather you did the job properly this time."

His mouth dried out completely. By the time he'd swallowed, she'd sashayed away with that devilish smirk, leaving him the most perfect motivation one could ever devise.

0

They'd cracked open the Bordeaux in her office which, just like London, had a convenient sitting area for more informal meetings. A 'cheers' to a job well done, a passing comment on his attitude towards her valued friends and colleagues, before the conversation moved onto a discussion of what was to come. The next stage for this latest establishment on the Sanctuary's steadily increasing network.

Before long they were reminiscing about those discussions they'd had ten, fifteen years ago, when she was first considering establishing a Sanctuary in the Big Apple. That time she'd needed the distraction from the disaster of the Titanic… and they'd discovered the Lapillus Diaboli. God, time flew by so fast. Everything that had happened since – it felt like another world, another time.

The thought made her pensive, an inward turn that showed a glimpse of the woman beneath that dazzlingly confident exterior – a look Nikola understood. Completely. One she was sure he never ignored, even if he pretended to, for her sake. Feeling exposed she set her now empty glass back on the table in front of them, unable to sit back in her seat, and clasping her hands on her lap like the inveterate lady she was.

"Well, it was," Nikola responded to the vocalised sentiment.

She looked back at him searchingly, as he sat forward, setting his own glass next to hers.

"We've made a new one – for better or for worse," he added softly, "The great thing about the future though... is it can be whatever we make of it."

That smile of his was like a light bulb, and she couldn't help but smile back at the seemingly never-ending optimism, his hope for the future. Utopia might be too far away, it might never exist, but Nikola hadn't quite shaken the possibility that it could, or the desire to see it happen. It was almost innocent, in a way. She laughed at the thought, shaking her head. Nikola. Innocent?

Looking up from her bowed head into the spark in his eyes she felt that same curiosity that had, in the end, been the killing stroke of her Victorian upbringing; the pull between them that had thrown caution and propriety to the wind. It hadn't been so hard to do after the war, she supposed, though it wasn't until that singular night with Gershwin that she had set her mind to feeling no shame, no regret, in just fooling around with _anyone_, stranger or… friend. Just so long as they were two, rational, consenting adults, where was the harm? Like Nikola had just said – the future was whatever they made of it, a new world with new manners and a fresh perspective. Even so, Helen had yet to shake the feeling that these encounters between the two of them were... dangerous.

Was it just a lingering antiquated morality that such intimacies _should_ mean more, or the fact that she was 'fooling' with a friend? She didn't know. It was a compunction that didn't, _couldn't,_ mean anything more than… loneliness. Too complex to be anything more than just sex. Really great, thrilling, sex… she bit her lip, trying not to blush at the memories like some delicate schoolgirl. Nikola wasn't George – there were too many years of friendship, too much history – and therein lay the problem. She shouldn't even indulge the notion of another tryst, allow herself to be so close and yet they were, drifting closer. She was sure he could feel it too, the way they'd leaned subconsciously until she could… he could just… one small move and it could start all over again. Helen would've been lying if she denied that her every instinct, every base desire, wasn't telling her to do just that. The only thing stopping her was the fact that she wasn't the only one hesitating.

She blinked, her expression turning sombre in an instant and killing the magnetic field between them like a switch, even before she'd started to pull away with a steadying breath. "It's late," she smiled softly. _No harm, no foul… right?_

He could feel his pulse stop dead, "Yeah," he managed, mind racing to kick himself, pick apart the confusion of thoughts, and feelings, and signals which had arrested him. She did this to him every time – set him into a spin like a tampered compass. It made him wary, cautious, and stupid. Stupid enough to pretend that those few nights, scattered across the last few years, had only been a little comfort, a release between friends. White lies, exchanged for the chance to keep playing the game.

Clearing her throat gently and sparing only the shortest glance out the corner of her eye she started for the door. He watched her go with an invisible longing, a stupid spark of hope lurching in him as she paused enough to turn back.

"There's a… spare room, for you… if you'd like," she offered, "third floor, second door on the right."

He didn't frown, but his smile dimmed at such polite parameters, "It's not London Helen," he sank into the sofa, wearing a good-humoured nonchalance not unlike a jacket to be put on, borrowed, but never truly owned, "I'm not that far from the hotel."

"Of course," she smiled, sheepishly, shaking herself back into some sense of command, "well, I mean… you're always welcome to…"

_Stay_.

Nikola looked at her without looking at her, picking up on that one omitted word, and wondering why she couldn't say it after all these years.

"Good night Nikola."

He turned to her again, the way her short-cropped hair accented her elegant neck… that beautiful, understated smile. It was an expression that made you instantly at ease, at home. Then it turned away from him and it was like someone had turned off the lights.

"Good night," he offered belatedly, finally staring at the last of his wine. As if it were the one thing on Earth that could help him figure out what the _hell_ had just happened.

0 0

He ran a hand through his hair, throwing his jacket onto the back of a lonesome chair and looking around, wondering why he _hadn't_ headed back to the Hotel St. Regis. It's not like the fact it was gone midnight posed even the slightest obstacle to a vampire in the city that never slept, and yet, he'd stared into that glass of wine long enough that taking Helen up on her offer had started to sound like a good idea. He did, after all, want to make an early start on running Francis, or Fred, or whatever his name was through the maintenance routines for the new system. That way, and with any luck, it wouldn't eat away his entire day and he could spend some time sneaking a peek at Helen's new, _modern_ laboratories – a first for Dr Magnus, commissioning such an expensive indulgence as up-to-date facilities.

Or at least, that's what he told himself. As if being able to surprise her at breakfast, to grin at her across the table to the bewilderment and rumour of her impressionable staff, had nothing to do with it. If only to remind her that he wasn't going to make it easy for her to forget Egypt, or London…

The room was immaculate – as one would expect. Helen Magnus' standards were impeccably high, and the furnishings were all tasteful. Modernity and tradition combined. He stripped down, unsurprised to find the draws were full of clean linens, spare underwear in various sizes and nightwear too. It was a care package for all the lost and unfortunate abnormals her operation would be servicing before long. Necessities neatly stored for every eventuality.

Nikola went about his usual routine – for when he had one, which, when he was working tended to be interrupted by bouts of inspiration _very_ frequently. Cleaning his teeth, washing his face, and upper body he turned off the light and made himself comfortable between the crisp cotton sheets.

After standing for hours on end his body was quite glad to be lying down it seemed, a complaint he had somehow ignored heretofore, even over their late-night chat. His mind, however, continued to fixate on their parting this evening. _Oh, Helen Magnus_, he sighed, running a hand through his hair again – why did she have to be so damn... complex, enticing, elusive – composed? It was becoming more of a challenge, every time, to match her supposed indifference. To beat her calm, unassailable façade, even as it became so much easier to tease at the cracks until she gave in.

Maybe that's why his head was wired right now, unable to sleep. Because he'd been denied, because tonight she'd succeeded in pulling them back from the brink – he had long since lost the will to be the one who did that. The voice of reason. The staying hand. It wasn't in his nature. To deny himself a discovery, an adventure, a chance to prove himself.

A small sound whispered in Nikola's sensitive ears through the walls, distracting him. He listened closer, frowning in curiosity at the familiarity of its cadence. A sigh that was trying, _trying_ to sleep, and failing – Helen. She'd put him in the room next to her own.

He couldn't stop the grin that emerged on his face, even in the dark, at all the ways he could needle her for that. She'd put him _next door_. Not down the corridor like a formal guest, or on the other floor with the residential abnormals, or the children she'd hired to help run the place. She was lying, on that new bed, not a few feet away.

That was a thought he shouldn't have indulged in. Not with the images his mind was now furnishing him with – he tried to distract himself, meditate on something mundane, and trivial, and not quite as sexy. Like the circuitry of an EM Shield. He shifted as if it might reset his muscles, and his mind, but every little noise drew his attention like a rabbit suspecting danger. Whenever there was a creak or a warm 'hmm' from her throat – he could almost see her, lying there, unsettled in her sleep. Her hair tousled, less so than when it was long, her slender fingers curling around the edge of her sheets.

_Counting_. Counting always helped, he insisted to himself. Preferably in multiples in three.

Even as he got to fifteen, however Nikola could feel his ears twitching at the sound of her sheets shuffling. He did his best to ignore it, the voice in his head growing louder as he started to complicate the maths. Then he registered something entirely unexpected, eradicating whatever number he had reached… a moan. A sultry, heavy moan.

For a moment he doubted he'd even heard it, his ears sharpening to verify this hypothesis before his rather adept imagination went ahead and ran rampant. There was the light rustle of fabric, as she shifted into a better position. He listened harder, forcing out his inner vampire to maximise his hearing, to catch the hastened pace of her breathing, turning into a heavier sigh.

His mouth dried out – his body reacting to what he was listening to before his mind was ready to put it together. It was the slick sound of skin gliding in and out of her that made it inescapable.

She was going to drive him _insane_. What could he do? He'd heard it now, he couldn't block it out, couldn't erase the sound of her touching herself, or the hot flash of arousal that had spread through him at the thought. He closed his eyes, and it only made it worse – now he had memories feeding him with all-too-accurate depictions to accompany her every sigh. The flush of her cheeks, of her chest as it rose and fell. The soft mound of curls between her legs, the perfect points of her nipples, teased to a peak.

He was hard, and even though she was just beyond the wall, taking care of herself, something paralysed him. Something stopped him once again from acting upon his all-too-rational impulse to slip through her door and see them both satisfied.

Perhaps it was the fact that he wasn't _supposed_ to have heard the tell-tale signs of Helen Magnus, masturbating? It was, after all, a private indulgence most men still believed women innocent of, and certainly no one would admit to. Sighing in frustration, he rubbed at the headache forming in sympathy with his throbbing erection.

God damn it. Why couldn't she have just leaned in that little bit closer on the sofa – given him some _sign_? It could've been his hands on her body, making her pant as she came closer to release, as her pulse increased with the pace of her fingers and the slight buck of her hips – as her insides began to tense and release.

She came quieter than he had heard since he'd discovered her most sensitive points, frozen like a mosquito in amber by the manual bliss. Imaging him? Or Johnny? He wondered, the sour thought almost enough to kill his libido dead. Maybe the thought of big, bad and bald was precisely why she'd gone to bed _alone_. He growled to himself without realising, angry now and still, pointedly, aroused. Sometimes, in crueller temperaments, he could've sworn she did it on purpose.

0 0 0

The next morning there had been… an atmosphere, whenever they were in the same room. Helen, surprised to find he'd taken her up on her offer of a room for the night, was trying desperately to eradicate the thoughts which had brought her such pleasure in the night. Nikola, trying _not_ to think of what he'd heard, to think of her impassioned and alone. Neither of them could quite look the other in the eye, bar the sly glimpse from the corners that felt too much like the intrigue of having _actually_ spent the night together. Eventually he'd gathered the courage to ask her, before she managed to cloister herself in the office, whether she'd like to join him for dinner at Delmonicos that evening… like old times. She'd declined, but not without some hesitation, some conflict in whether it could be so simple anymore, whether the pretext was as friends or... fools. Her excuse was the same as it ever was. Work, work, work.

Tesla had finished installing the EM Shield anyway – and the new modifications worked a treat. Her lackey was even bright enough to understand his instructions in one sitting, which was rather fortunate, because Nikola wasn't in much of a mood to hang around when she was toying with him like this. Denying herself, reasoning her way back to loneliness, and taunting him with all that was so near, yet so far.

He didn't seek her out to say goodbye. After all, she was still in New York for a few weeks at least, maybe months, until she found some patsy to be Head of New York Sanctuary. She knew him well enough to find him… should she want to take him up on that offer of fine dining. No, right now, he felt absolutely no desire to dance around her longingly, watching her shut down, throw up her guard, keep him at bay. He wanted space. To clear his head of her, to think about something, _any_one else _before_ it became something akin to mania.

The best distraction, of course, was his work. It always was. Whether it was guilt, or regret, or depression, a challenging scientific problem was always the best remedy – besides, he'd neglected it long enough for Helen's sake. He worked right the way through lunch, then dinner, barely paying attention to the hour, barely acknowledging his secretary bidding him goodnight – he was so focused on the physics at hand. The light shifted in the windows and he barely even realised that the lights had been switched on for him, hours ago. Everything shrank away. Until he was stirred by a light, familiar, rap on his door.

He turned to glare at the interruption – with absolutely no intention of shifting a muscle to open it – stunned not only by the realisation that the door was already open, but by who, exactly, stood inside of it. "Helen?" If he sounded surprised, he was. To the point that he was frozen between a flurry of possible quips and responses, none of which were precisely what he _really_ wanted to ask.

She smiled warmly, that serene façade holding something far more complicated in check, hemming it in with that polite British reserve, "I thought I might find you here."

She started to drift in, closing the door behind her as she milled around his experiments, each lined up in order of their variables. He watched her like a hawk. Mindful of the way she made a point of inspecting his work, careful of the way she seemed to be waiting… for the right moment, or the right words.

"It's a little late – don't you think," He teased warily, eying her with a jaunty tilt, "to be taking me up on Delmonico's?"

She smiled enigmatically back, her eyes sparking at the perceptive suggestion lurking between the lines, "Well I, realised I hadn't had the chance to come and see what you were up to these days…" she pointed to the machine in front of her, "Is this your radio detection device?"

He smiled broadly in appreciation… and the fast-growing suspicion that it hadn't been the radio device she'd come for. "I thought the Sanctuary was too busy to spare you."

"Oh at any sane hour, yes," she deflected, pretending to study his inventions. "Luckily there is always one man in this city who can be relied upon to be keeping more absurd hours than I am," she smirked cheekily at him. "I take it you're close."

He couldn't help himself – any excuse to explain his genius to someone who'd appreciate it. Even though he could feel his pulse pick up with the corners of her lips, he straightened himself to his full height, keen to show off his latest discovery. "Well," he started lowering his voice and standing closer, "I'm still looking for the most effective frequencies, to increase its range, but in essence, yes."

She looked to him with that bright appreciation, the smile that was eager to witness the miracles of science, to see her friends succeed. "In that case," it settled into a more intimate expression, "I look forward to its applications in the field."

"Mhmm," he smirked, watching the shimmer in her eyes, "maybe one day I'll work out a way to make it work through solids too – then we won't have to keep digging holes in the Egyptian desert to find one little tomb."

She half-laughed at that, her stomach lurching not unpleasantly at the vivid memories of those months amongst sand dunes and rock, temples and tombs. The adventures they'd had. Her heart had quickened, as though her real motivation – the one she had barely registered in her consciousness – was already exposed. If she looked up, she just knew he'd be wearing that damnably cocksure smirk, along with the knowing glint that wound her up just as much as it sent tingles through her skin. She hazarded a glance. Oh, there it was. Staring back at her, as if he wanted to close that decreasing gap between them, reach out and press his lips to hers.

Just like _she_ wanted to: to see if it felt as good as last time, whether it might ease the tension that had crawled into her back, her neck, her shoulders, her head. Memories were a poor substitute to reality, to sensation, and damn if she wasn't just inches away from the real thing but… oh God if she did, how was she going to stop this? How was she going to keep herself from going to him at the barest ache of isolation – every time she could feel the crushing weight of her own experience in comparison to the young, bright things around her? How could she, when deep down she knew, she _knew_… and he deserved better than that. As her friend. He deserved more than to be used. He might not see it that way but, that's what it was, wasn't it? That's what it felt like, when she let herself think about it. And still his door was always open to her: still he looked at her like _that_. Sensing precisely what she'd come here for, and wanting her anyway, longing to reach across and touch her.

Her eyes dilated as she felt his hand suddenly slip around hers, that steel-blue gaze arresting her attention with the most unreadable expression, until he realised she hadn't flinched, hadn't moved away. Indeed her pulse had sped at his touch. He grinned, a victorious smirk, thrilled by the simplest thing. The boyish expression twitched – the prelude to some quip or another, but she didn't want to trade witty repartee. Not now. Not this time.

She dived in to kiss him, taking him entirely off guard, surprising herself even with how vigorously their lips met. His hands hovered uncertainly for a moment, as if to touch her would be to burn, or surrender, or as if he had forgotten how to move with her mouth working upon his own, her hands drawing his head towards hers. Then the moment was gone, and he recovered enough to smooth his hands across her body, hold her as their tongues started to seek a deeper taste.

He pressed closer, until she could suddenly feel the lab table at her back through her coat, and he against her front. She could smell him as he invaded her senses, the softness of those warm lips on her wind-chilled skin, the new soap he'd used at the Sanctuary that morning, the almost metallic scent which was never too far from him. Somehow his hands came between them, daring to divest her of that damn heavy coat, and forcing her to pull away for just a moment to push it down her arms. It sank around her legs, quickly forgotten as she gave him no pause to doubt, to think, to consider the position they were in, only the sensation of her kissing him, her fingers toying with the edge of his lab coat as if dropping hints that it shouldn't be there, and yet using it to hold him to her.

The kissing left her breathless, gasping between each one, their chests rising at the exertion as their skin began to prickle with the heat. Nikola grew bolder, brushing against the sheer blouse, camisole and slip layered above her breasts, touching her harder, until she moaned. Then the lab coat came off, shoved down his arms by her rather insistent hands, her fingers clutching to the arms of his shirt as he continued petting her, this time with his lips. She ran fingers through his hair, clutching him to her as he bit gently through the fabric and trapped her nipple, tugging ever so slightly and rolling it in his mouth as if he were already lapping upon her skin. She moaned in appreciation, her hips instinctively aligning with his. Her knee arched upwards as though it had a mind of its own, nudging at his leg until one of his hands slipped down to steady it. She already had his fingers at the tickle-point of her back, his mouth upon her bosom, and now his other hand was fast finding its way beneath her favourite black skirt to the garter straps on her corset and the first, firm, touch of flesh between them. She almost jerked at the contact, her body reacting to the brush of skin in anticipation, swimming with the memory of how those fingers could make her feel.

He reappeared from his lavish attentions at her chest, eying her with an expectation that promised he was about to give her body everything, _anything_, it was begging for. More potent still, beneath that cockiness was the disbelief in his own good fortune, the amazement at being able to _act_ upon his desire. It made her skin come alive even as she wanted to kiss that knowing smirk self-consciously away. Then he popped the first of her garter belts. Leaning in to kiss her as he freed her stocking, he started smoothing it down her leg, her nerves flashing towards her centre at the caress down to her shoes. It felt far too good to stop, and the other soon followed as he pushed in against her, raising her onto the table.

She managed to get her hands to his waist while he was occupied, loosening the tops of his trousers and crossing that invisible line that separated their near misses from a tryst. He gave out a pleasantly surprised hum, muffled in her kiss, running both hands up from her knees simultaneously beneath the bunched-up fabric of her skirt. Up across her thighs towards her core they smoothed. Her fingers spasmed as he rubbed her bare sex, leaning closer as he pressed a digit inside of her. She dug hungrily behind his clothes for the aroused organ she could already see bulging behind the fabric. Gently wrapping her hands around his erection, so that his breath came out shallow and nervous as she guided it to freedom.

"Helen," it was a warning and a plea all in one, and it brought her out in shivers, gasped out so close, their foreheads almost together.

She breathed in readiness, wrapping her arms around his neck and letting him take her, guide her from the surety of the slightly-too-tall table, and onto his body. At this angle she could feel every inch of him pushing into her, against her, tying her into knots. She took in a heavy breath that brought her flush against him, clinging, caressing his head as he pinned her against the furniture, as he pulled slowly out to bury himself within her again, kissing against her pulse as she cried out and shuddered.

Encouraged he tipped her further for a more acute angle, driving into her with greater force and leaving her panting, clutching to him even tighter. God he couldn't think anymore, only feel, and pounding into Helen's body, her quickened flesh welcoming, sucking him in was the most amazing sensation. Divine. Especially when he could _hear_ her pleasure, clear as crystal. Undeniable proof that she was enjoying this, enjoying _him_ – that if nothing else she could no more deny her attraction to him than he could pretend to be stupid.

The repeated volleys of being filled and emptied had reached muscles she'd forgotten she'd had, touched deeper than she could remember being touched. She couldn't keep her eyes open, it was impossible to contain, a pleasure so bone-deep starting in her pelvis and building up her spine that she needed satisfaction, needed release – urgently. She could feel Nikola's rhythm start to slip as he came closer too, "Nikola?"

He kissed her, a rough slip of lips as one of his hands teased and rubbed against her clitoris in an entirely unexpected move that had her gasping out in absolute bliss, and calling his name to a more certain tune.

The sound of her orgasm tipped him over the edge, allowing himself to sink into her completely, whispering her name desperately against her ear as he exploded inside of her. Holy God it was better than New Year's… better even than that time in Cairo.

She chuckled slightly against him, the sound of relief and disbelief mingled into one. It had swept away every ache, every pain into a sea of bliss. If only for a moment she had no regrets. Everything, every_one_ else, had disappeared.

It occurred to her, distantly, in that sex-addled haze, that Mr Gershwin hadn't managed that. She was beginning to wonder, in fact, whether anyone who wasn't intimately acquainted with her, every part of her, ever could. Nikola drew the tip of his nose against her cheek as he pulled back and let her stand, that grin of pure, heavy-lidded satisfaction softening his face. She couldn't _not_ enjoy it, that look. Even if it wouldn't last.

Somewhere deep in her gut she worried, for a moment, that he'd start complimenting her in terms she just couldn't reciprocate, but even _he_ seemed to sense that it wasn't a good idea. Whatever heartfelt expression lay unspoken, it killed the equally powerful urge to be flippant – in both of them – leaving a strange drawn-out silence wherein a steadily increasing distance began to grow. Nikola cleared his throat slightly, still smiling as he glanced over at the mess they'd made of his lab table and coaxing out a mirroring expression from her too. He tried to take the handkerchief in his waistcoat pocket and clean himself up in a way which wouldn't draw her attention – as self-conscious about feeling the compunction to do so even while she stood there, as he was physically uncomfortable being so… erm, sodden, whilst still fully dressed. He didn't succeed, however, the movement automatically drawing her gaze back to his now discharged organ, and causing her to reflexively bite her bottom lip as she watched him draw his own hands down its length.

Oh dear lord, if she stayed any longer who knew what she'd do to him. This was ridiculous. She wouldn't even be able to ask him back to the Sanctuary for a cup of tea for a week at least, or she'd be _thinking_ about it whenever she saw him… and he'd just… _know_. Helen focused on putting herself back in order, her chemise, her garters, her rumpled up skirt. There was a damp patch still, across her bosom, but it would dry soon enough. Then there was her coat, rumpled on the floor. She bent her knees and picked it up with all the decorum of her upbringing, and it wasn't until she had it in her arms that she let her eyes drift to meet his.

"I should… go," she managed quietly, feeling more and more awkward as she realised that, just like last time, and the time before that… there was no easy way to re-draw the lines between them. If anything, in such an unusual place to be having sex, it was only harder.

She made to move but he wasn't going to let her go so easily, catching her lips in a kiss that had her leaning back to where she'd started, her still-sensitive body blatantly betraying her interest in remaining precisely where she was.

He let her go, but what he said froze her in place, "Come back to mine." He'd managed to make it sound like such an idle notion, as if it were a trivial suggestion that he _hadn't_ been thinking about for longer than this one encounter.

She searched his face, for any sign of insincerity, of that rakish teasing that peppered their verbal exchanges. Going back to his place, staying the night without worrying about the residents, or her employees, or Nigel, or James… waking up beside him again. It brought a curious coil of panic and pleasure crawling from her core.

"_Come_ _on_," he jeered, reasserting himself as if from a daze, and reinstating that infuriating leer as he realised the answer would almost certainly be _no_, "you've got to unwind sometime Helen."

She chuckled at the return to familiar territory, but couldn't quite find the words for a rebuttal, a flirtatious retort. Merely shaking her head and eying him with mock disapproval, she started off, on unsteady feet, wishing she'd had the strength to be more direct about all this and yet, just as thankful that with Nikola… she never _needed_ to say a word.

It was understood. Even if it was put to the back of their minds, it was _always_ understood.

As she escaped, Nikola couldn't help it – she hadn't actually said _no_. She hadn't shot him down in flames… and so, he allowed himself to hope. That she'd give in, eventually. One day. Nikola Tesla was not a patient man – except when it counted – and for her? Well that was the beauty of it, wasn't it? That out of all of them, _they_ were the two who'd been gifted with _time_. Granted it didn't come with any guarantee. They could still die, but if they played their cards right well… the others would all fade and die in time, even John Druitt, and they? _They_ had all the time in the world.

* * *

I'm gonna take my time  
I have all the time in the world  
To make you mine  
It is written in the stars above

The gods decree  
You'll be right here by my side  
Right next to me  
You can run but you cannot hide

Don't say you want me  
Don't say you need me  
Don't say you love me  
It's understood

Don't say you're happy  
Out there without me  
I know you can't be  
'Cause it's no good

I'll be fine  
I'll be waiting patiently  
Till you see the signs  
And come running to my open arms

When will you realize  
Do we have to wait 'til our worlds collide  
Open up your eyes  
You can't turn back the tide

Don't say you want me  
Don't say you need me  
Don't say you love me  
It's understood

Don't say you're happy  
Out there without me  
I know you can't be  
'Cause it's no good

I'm going to take my time  
I have all the time in the world  
To make you mine  
It is written in the stars above

Don't say you want me  
Don't say you need me  
Don't say you love me  
It's understood

Don't say you're happy  
Out there without me  
I know you can't be  
'Cause it's no good

Don't say you want me  
Don't say you need me  
Don't say you love me  
It's understood

Don't say you're happy  
Out there without me  
I know you can't be  
'Cause it's no good

Depeche Mode - It's No Good, Ultra

**Author's Note:**

This song is so Teslen, and amazing, and just… _sigh_, yum.

So yeah… THIS is how I picture those "trysts" Martin Wood, Damien Kindler and Amanda Tapping alluded to on the Tesla special on the DVD extras… because duh, of course these two have screwed before. ;) For anyone reading my other stories this does all fit in completely with those – there are even a couple of nods to The Iron Sea and 12 Days of Sanctuary Christmas. My head cannon is largely informed by hints dropped throughout the series plus a little wishful thinking, but I really do think that if there was any time these two were getting freaky it _has_ to be the 20s. I also don't happen to believe that things have _ever_ been simple between them, or ever will be, so hopefully this will be a really believable, in-character scenario. Let me know what you think.

Also the Radio Detection Device… RADAR, which, btw Tesla did _not_ actually invent. Nor were his theories surrounding it the main contributing factor to its creation, but this is Sanctuary Tesla so of course we'll let him take the credit. :D

**DISCLAIMER**: I don't own Helen Magnus, Nikola Tesla, or Depeche Mode's music (shame), but I love them all to bits. I also hope the actors and wonderful creators don't mind me appropriating them for smutty times because I find their on-screen chemistry so unbelievably hot I just can't help myself. Please take it as a compliment to your writing, directing and acting abilities Sanctuary Team. :)


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